Juste grunted. “What the hell was it?”
“My ba—my soul—separating from my body. A gift from my husband. He allows me to leave my mortal prison and leads me until he has shown me what he wants me to see.”
“The monster in the canal …” Haddara murmured.
Khepri shrugged. “I asked him to show what he wants of me now that I am awakened.”
Juste shook his head. “No matter how many times you say it, I’m not buyin’ you came back from the dead.”
Her smile was serene, her gaze warm. “And yet it is true. Somewhere inside you, you know it’s true.”
“What I believe,” he said, tapping the table with his index finger, “is that you’re connected to some bad shit that’s about to happen. My gut tells me it’s gonna get worse—worse even than crocodiles carryin’ off women. What I want to know is what we’re facin’ so I can keep you safe.”
“My safety isn’t your responsibility,” she said, then turned to Haddara, “nor yours. You have both proclaimed yourselves my protectors, but you are my support when I do battle. For I must do battle. You simply aren’t equipped.”
Juste squeezed the hand he held atop his knee. “And you are? Last I checked, the only weapon you had was a little knife.”
“That little knife is a powerful amulet that gives me magical powers. Whatever weapon I need, I will know how to use it.”
Rather than argue any further he changed the subject, because his head hurt thinking about the things she said. “You got any idea what happened with the other mummy?” he asked, turning to Haddara.
Haddara shook his head. “The nameless one may well be walking among us, just as Khepri is now.”
Since that was something he’d seen for himself, Juste nodded. “Any idea what his agenda might be.”
Haddara smiled grimly. “To retake his throne.”
“Might be kinda hard since we don’t have any kings here in Nawlins ‘less you count the King of Mardi Gras.”
“He was pharaoh,” Khepri said, her tone lilting even as it held an edge of dread. “Exalted, a living god. He will demand worship. When he’s frustrated or served disrespect, he won’t be happy.”
Juste let go of her hand and reached for his fork, stabbing the chicken to peel away a strip of meat that had been rubbed with spice. “Guess he’ll be pissed. Might make him easier to find.” Juste ate the chicken and chased it with a helping of dirty rice. Beside him, Khepri pushed slices of okra to one side of her bowl but attacked the gumbo with gusto, her eyelids dipping as she swallowed a bite.
“You like it?”
She nodded and took another bite.
Haddara and Juste shared smiles, because she’d managed to dribble soup on her chin. Even goddesses weren’t perfect.
Back at the museum, Juste rolled his shoulders. A dull ache had settled in his neck, likely because he’d slept on his back rather than his belly while he’d held Khepri against his body last night.
After lunch, Haddara had excused himself to make a phone call to his benefactor, the sheik, who had left him a text message that he’d boarded a private plane and was on his way to New Orleans. Haddara had drawn a deep breath and offered Khepri a small tight smile. “I mentioned you. He’s eager to meet you. And concerned …”
They’d shared a long glance that made Juste uncomfortable, because the two had taken an instant liking to each other. The fact Haddara had accepted her story without a quibble was odd to him, but Khepri seemed relieved. Like someone who had found a much-needed ally.
Juste didn’t like that she couldn’t trust him. But trust ran both ways, and she had yet to give him anything solid to believe. He didn’t even believe things he’d seen with his own eyes. The more time that passed since she’d slumped to the floor in Turney Hall, the more he wondered if what he’d seen had been a trick of the light streaming through a tall window.
Mikey opened the conference room door and lifted his eyebrows in a quick waggle before stepping through. “I asked them to come in together.”
Juste nodded. Not the way he usually conducted an interrogation, but he was antsy to get the hell out of the museum. He cut a sideways glance at Khepri, who wrinkled her nose.
“Will this be the last of your interrogations?” she asked quietly.
“Why? You got somewhere to go?”
Her gaze narrowed. “I must make my own inquiries, in my own way. If your investigation turns up something helpful to me finding him, then I am satisfied, but when it does not—”
“This is the last of the interviews,” he said, his tone terse.
Three people filed into the conference room. They looked exactly like what they were, a professor and his graduate assistants. The professor’s hair was a shaggy, graying blond, and he wore a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was dressed in khaki twill trousers, comfortable loafers, and a rumpled, short-sleeved striped shirt. His assistants, one male and one female, both wore T-shirts. The male wore one from the museum’s gift shop, with a picture of a sarcophagus and the dates of the exhibit. The girl, blonde and in her early twenties, wore a pink tee that hugged her small unbound breasts.
Juste wondered which of the men she was trying to attract. When she chose a seat next to the professor rather than the grad student, he thought he had his answer.
He glanced at his notes. “Dr. Anton Felton?” he said, pointing at the professor.
The professor gave a curt nod. “This going to take long?”
Juste ignored him and aimed his glance at the girl, “Becky Ward?”
“Yeah,” she said, straightening in her chair.
“And Charles Mabry.” The male grad student grunted, but his gaze went to the side, past the professor to the girl, who was twirling a lock of hair and ignoring his glare.
So maybe not the professor, and the two students were having a tiff? Not that Juste cared, but he liked to get an instant bead on people.
“You were all part of the team that found the missing mummies?” Juste grimaced as he said it, knowing Mikey was likely stifling a chuckle. Anyone who knew him could hear the way his tone sharpened every time he said the word.
“We were,” said the Dr. Felton, folding his arms over his chest. “They could be significant finds. I can’t believe the museum’s lost them.”
“They didn’t lose anything. They were stolen.”
The professor’s head shook. “Those mummies survived over four thousand years without being pillaged in Egypt. I still don’t understand why Haddara was in such a hurry to get them here.”
Something in his pinched expression caught Juste’s interest. “You didn’t think they should be moved?”
“There was no need. The sheik’s vault is huge, his security staff well trained. We could have studied them there. The vault’s very well equipped. We took the first X-rays with his machine. Now, the most significant find in a decade may be lost forever.”
“Why was the find so important?”
Dr. Felton’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know that it was. Not for sure. But the inscription on the female’s chest was intriguing.”
“Because her companion in the tomb might have been one of the scorpion kings?”
“Yes, King Selk.”
Khepri’s breath hissed between her teeth. “His name should not be spoken.”
Dr. Felton’s gaze swung toward her and his eyes narrowed. “Are you with the police?”
“No.”
Juste cleared his throat. The professor didn’t recognize her, neither did his assistants by their quick dismissal of Khepri. Another dead end. “You’ll be here until the exhibit opens?”
Dr. Felton’s gaze flicked from Khepri’s frowning face back to Juste’s carefully neutral expression. “We’re helping with set up and display, to make sure the flow of antiquities from one dynasty to the next makes sense.”
“Dr. Dorman couldn’t have done the work on his own?”
“I’m sure he could, but we’re more familiar with th
e sheik’s catalog—and the sheik offered to pay our expenses.”
Juste flipped his notebook closed. “So you’ll be in town for a while.”
“We’ll be finished setting up tonight.” At the lift of Juste’s brow, the professor gave a tense smile. “Yes, there was a bit of a last-minute rush to finish. Tomorrow night’s the gala. We’ll head back to the university after that.”
“Gala?”
“Friends of the museum—contributors—will get a private viewing of the antiquities before they’re open to the public next week.”
Juste’s belly tightened. Not something anyone had mentioned before. He wondered why. “I think that’s all for now.”
The three stood and shuffled out of the room.
Juste turned toward Mikey. “Did Dorman ever mention some big party to you?”
“Nope. Do you think he was makin’ sure we wouldn’t put a damper on his evenin’?”
“Or makin’ sure his cash cows don’t know there’s been trouble.” Juste grunted, then leveled a steady stare on Haddara, who wasn’t saying anything. The man had known about the event, but had kept quiet as well. “I feel kinda hurt we weren’t invited,” Juste said, keeping his tone dead even.
Haddara shrugged. “Tickets sold out a month ago.”
Mikey flashed a grin. “Want me to sweet-talk his secretary into givin’ us a couple tickets?”
“Make it three.” Juste stood and waited while Khepri pushed up from her seat. “Where we goin’ now?” he asked her, ignoring Mikey’s raised eyebrows.
Khepri blew out a breath, then aimed a pointed glance his way. “I’d like to see the beast in the canal. See whether he is Sobek or a diversion.”
Juste stared at her expression, at the stubborn tilt of her chin. She expected him to balk. Or to ask what they hell she was talking about. He resisted both knee-jerk reactions. Instead, he indicated toward the door, “After you.”
Chapter Eighteen
With Justin and Mr. Haddara accompanying her out of the museum, Khepri felt a little flustered. One was willing to follow her blindly. The other was either humoring her or waiting for her to betray him.
Of a certainty, Justin didn’t believe for a second that Sobek might be real, and he probably even doubted a crocodile was loose in his city. From that internal library of facts and language she seemed able to access at will, she knew crocodiles were close kin, but recognizably different, from the alligators native to this region.
At the entrance of the building, the thin man who appeared to be in charge of the museum stood to the side of the double glass doors. His mouth was a disapproving straight line as his gaze flitted from the Egyptian, to her, and then rested on Justin. “Have you found out anything?”
“Our investigation is ongoin’, Dr. Dorman,” Juste said easily. “I can’t discuss it with you.”
Dr. Dorman’s bottom lip protruded. “It’s my museum.”
“And you haven’t yet been crossed off the list of suspects.”
The curator drew himself up, his expression souring even more as his glance shot from Juste to Mr. Haddara. “I’m relieved you don’t hold the same suspicions for my colleague.”
By his snide tone, Khepri knew he was furious.
“Unless we have more questions, we’ll see you tomorrow night,” Juste murmured and pushed through the door, standing to the side to hold it open as she, then Mr. Haddara, exited.
As she passed Dr. Dorman, he blinked, apparently shocked they planned to be at the gala.
“So you are determined to attend the soiree? It’s costume,” Mr. Haddara said, a smile easing across his face.
“Ah shit,” Justin muttered.
“Our Khepri will need something special to wear.”
Juste’s cheeks billowed around an expelled breath.
She suppressed a grin, catching Mr. Haddara’s equally amused look. Things were getting more complicated by the minute for the detective. “As I have no clue what one wears to a gala, nor what one really is, I will defer to your greater wisdom.”
“I’ll call Denise,” he said with a groan.
Once inside Justin’s car, and with Mr. Haddara perched on his seat behind her, she waited patiently as Justin called Denise before starting the car with a firm crank of the keys.
“We don’t really know if that gator’s in City Park,” Juste muttered. “Sure you wanna head there?”
“Don’t you think it odd he did something so clearly meant to garner attention?” she asked, glancing sideways at Justin.
His hands tightened on the steering mechanism. “You say that as though something with a pea-sized brain has a strategy. It’s a gator, Khepri. Nothin’ more. It saw an easy meal.”
She sat back, serene in the knowledge Justin was wrong. The phrase “dead wrong” flitted through her mind, and she began to worry.
The drive to the park didn’t take long. They crossed a bridge, drove under an arched iron gate, and were suddenly surrounded by shorn lawns and trees with mossy growths hanging from their limbs. There were more cars and larger vehicles parked along the road inside the park, and armed men in uniforms patrolled the edges of ponds and a canal.
Justin stopped the vehicle and gave her a sharp glare. “You stick close to me and don’t go near the water.”
She liked how his voice grew gruff when he gave her that order. Almost the same tone he’d used when he’d given her orders the night before, only then, he’d been instructing her how to touch him, where to put her mouth …
Maybe something of her thoughts showed on her face, or maybe he’d just caught her gaze darting to his mouth, but his eyes narrowed.
Juste was right. Now was certainly not the time to reminisce. She shook away the memories and opened her door, stepping out onto hot pavement and breathing air that, again, was so filled with moisture she felt as though she was suffocating.
“I have difficulty too with the humidity,” Mr. Haddara said, striding up beside her.
Offering him a small smile, she turned her attention to her surroundings. At the far side of one body of water was an arched bridge, only large enough for foot traffic, but it was raised, and she needed to be higher to see more of the park.
Justin let her lead the way, his heavy tread a comforting sound behind her. At the center of the stone bridge, she stopped and turned in a slow circle, searching for a sign. On a second turn, she noted white geese and black swans swimming quickly to the bank, their wings lifting as their feet touched ground. The last, a black swan, issued a harsh honk, and suddenly something large and dark lunged from the deep, jaws gaping to swallow the bird whole.
Shouts sounded. Squawks—not from ducks or geese or swans—erupted from devices clipped to collars and carried in tight fists.
Justin pushed her behind him and stared down into the water. “There.” He gestured toward a shadow in the water to a man in a brown uniform with a weapon already pointing toward the water.
The sounds around her grew to a noisy crescendo and then suddenly quieted, all noise muffled. A signal she understood. The air around her pressed closer. Her heartbeat tripped then raced, and she backed slowly away from Justin and Mr. Haddara, who both peered into the green, murky depths. She walked down the bridge and turned to stand beside the water.
While she moved, following some internal prod, she wasn’t happy to be standing so near the water after what she had seen. Crocodiles weren’t scorpions, and she had never overcome her fear of the ancient creatures, having watched too many animals, and one small girl, taken by a crocodile bursting from the deep. Closing her eyes, she calmed herself. She’d seen what the creature had done, how large it was, but Amun would protect her.
A splash sounded in front of her, and she blinked open her eyes. Terror hitching her breath, her heart galloping. The creature crawled quickly onto the bank, most of its body and massive tail still in the water.
She was aware of movement from the bridge, of Justin’s face, tight with urgency, as he leapt over the side to the ba
nk. “Do not harm him,” she whispered.
The creature darted forward, head twisting, exposing the rows of jagged teeth in its gaping jaws and clamping them painfully around her midriff. Then, just as quickly, it withdrew backward to the murky depths, taking her.
As though she was living a nightmare, time slowed and sounds, filtered by water and dulled by the rushing sound inside her head, were unintelligible. Beneath the surface, muted sounds of splashing surrounded her. She opened her eyes, saw Justin dive into the water, but the creature was faster, swimming away, his body elegantly weaving away from her rescuers.
She held her breath as long as she could, but then reached around to pound at his body. Sobek! Sobek! You are killing me!
From one moment to the next, she stood on dry ground, her clothing perfectly dry—standing with bare toes sinking into warm sand and clothed in her thin linen kalasiris. Quiet surrounded her. The air was thin, dry. She glanced upward and felt a moment’s relief there were stars shining above her, but quickly realized the small pinpricks of light weren’t stars at all. The lights were moving, swirling—small phosphorescent creatures clinging to the ceiling of a dark, high-ceilinged cavern. Another glance, and she recognized the hollowed bones of the windswept cavern she’d died inside.
“No,” she cried out, the sound a broken sob. “Not here.”
Footsteps crunched in sand and pebbles, and she turned slowly as a figure stepped out of the darkest shadows, its face revealed by the swelling swirls of light above her.
He was huge, bare except for the gossamer-thin shendyt riding the notches of his hips and trailing down to mid-thigh, revealing powerfully muscled thighs and calves. Even in the shadowy light she could see the green tinge to his skin, and before she tilted her head to glance into his face, she knew who he was.
His features were elongated from nose to mouth, more of a curved snout, and lightly scaled like slick crocodile hide. His large eyes were rounded, the pupils black vertical slits surrounded by glowing gold.
She dropped to her knees. “My Lord Sobek,” she whispered.
“You remember me?” he asked, his voice a hissing, grating sound.
Crescent Moon Page 13
